


The Snow Won't Care

by crossingwinter



Series: ASOIAF Drabbles & Ficlets [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the snow halts their trip home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Snow Won't Care

She awoke to the sound of a banging on the door.  “Your Grace?  Your Grace, can you hear me?”

She opened an eye blearily and reached out.  Jaime was not in bed anymore, the space he had occupied--rumpled and sweat-stained--was empty.  

“What is it, Ser Boros?” she called.  

“Your Grace, there was snow in the night,” Ser Boros called through the door.  

“So?”

“It might take us a while to clear the way.  We might be trapped here a little while longer.”

A little while longer.  Cersei rolled her eyes and sat up in bed, pulling the furs around her so that they warmed her bared back.  It was frigid in the room.  She and Jaime had forgone adding logs to the fire before sleeping, preferring instead to make their own heat.  How she wished they hadn’t been so shortsighted now.  And where was he anyway?  “My father awaits us, Ser Boros.  We do not have a little while to give--not when he awaits his first grandson.”

“We are clearing the snow as quickly as we can, Your Grace…” his words hung in the air and, she knew that he wasn’t finished.

“But?” she prodded.  She had half a mind to throw open the door and glare at him, but the room was too cold and she wasn’t entirely sure what Jaime had done with her shift and robe last night, and she was not prowling around this room unclothed until she found it.  

“But the shovels are snowed into their shed, Your Grace,” Ser Boros finished tersely.

She signed and ran a finger along her along the bridge of her nose, wondering just how foolish the Lord of Deep Den would have to be to keep his shovels in a shed that might get snowed shut.

“Ser Boros,” she called.

“Your Grace?”

“Where is my brother?”

“Ser Jaime?”

“Yes,” she did her best not to snap, but found that she failed, “the other brother is with my father, as should we be in all haste.”

“Ser Jaime is with the Prince, Your Grace.”

“Send him to me.  I would speak with him.”

“At once, Your Grace.”

She lay back down, pulling the furs to her chin and closing her eyes.

It was so quiet outside, and she wondered if Ser Boros had even gone to find Jaime, or if he still stood by her door.  She doubted very much if he suspected anything.  None of them did.  She was sure of that.  If they did...well.

She frowned.  No, she wasn’t to think of it.  She had promised Jaime, promised that while they were away, with Ser Boros and twenty of their father’s household knights, and their son, they would not think of anything at all.  The road was freedom, after all.  That’s what all the songs said.  So let them be free of it all.  

She ran her fingers over the skin of her legs, wishing that they were Jaime’s hands.  Where was he?  Why had he gone to Joffrey?  Ser Boros should be left with Joffrey--that was what they had agreed upon.  Their son was perfectly safe here, and if one White Knight was with the Prince, and one with the Queen, there would be no curiosity.  Nothing could be more normal.  Why did Jaime never stick to--

She heard a crunching from outside, someone moving through the snow, and when the door pushed open without a knock she knew that it was Jaime.

“Where have you been?” she asked when he closed the door behind him.  He smiled at her as he shook the snow from his hair.

“It’s freezing in here,” he commented when he removed his White Cloak from his shoulders and set it on a chair.  He knelt by the fireplace and began dropping logs into it, then blowing at cinders.

“Why are you wasting your time with that.  Come to bed.”

He smirked at her over his shoulder.  “I would hate to have you freeze to death while I am gone.”

“I have my furs and I have you.  What further warmth do I need?”

But Jaime kept on blowing at hidden embers and within a few minutes she heard a guttering and saw a bright orange begin to lick at the flames.  

He stood again and turned to her.  “Ser Boros said you would speak with me?” He was smirking now, and if he stood but a few feet closer she would tug at his shirt and pull him to her.  Instead, she shrugged.  

“Well,” Jaime said, raising his eyebrows, “if it isn’t urgent, I might return to my Prince.  He is my nephew and all--” Cersei rolled her eyes, glaring at him, and he stopped speaking with a laugh.  He tugged his tunic over his head even as he crossed the room to her, throwing it in a corner.  She didn’t see that it landed on top of her rumpled slip, because Jaime’s face was over hers, his hair dangling into his eyes and when she reached up to tuck his bangs behind his ears, he kissed the tips of her fingers.

And there was nothing in the world except the two of them, Jaime and her, as it always had been, always should be, loving beneath the furs while lesser men busied themselves breaking apart the snowy prison that Cersei wished never to leave.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know canonically there’s not supposed to be this much snow in the South just deal with it.


End file.
